


When life leaves you high and dry, I'll be at your door tonight

by Handmethatbing



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Katsuki Yuuri, Sick Victor Nikiforov, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handmethatbing/pseuds/Handmethatbing
Summary: The thing is, Yuuri will do anything for Victor. That includes running around looking for an open convenience store in the dead of a rainy Russian winter night.





	1. Chapter 1

Yuuri hovers outside the bathroom, pacing to and fro. Victor has been inside for the last half an hour and Yuuri has heard sounds of occasional retching. It's worrying him now.

  

 

"Should I come in? Are you okay?" Yuuri knocks on the door lightly, "Victor?"

 

There's a squeak but Yuuri's not sure if that counts as a genuine response. Yuuri knocks again, then pushes against the door to see if it's unlocked. It's not, and Yuuri pushes again, "Victor!"

 

" _Mmphfine!_ " he receives a muffled, slightly irritated groan this time. There's sudden silence, and the sound of the toilet flushing, when the door finally opens. Victor trudges out, almost leaning against the bathroom door as he does, his hair dishevelled and eyes sunken deeper than usual. "I'm tired," he mumbles out a response, then slowly heads to the bed.

 

Of course, he's tired. He's come home after a gruelling practice and now he's thrown up his dinner into the toilet. Yuuri tries to reel his memory back wondering what could've caused this - their schedules are too professionally planned and tightly packed to make room for a stomach bug. Victor doesn't fall ill easily either; is it a stomach bug, or is it something worse?  _No, no, no - stay on track, stay sane_ , he orders himself. If he's to help Victor, he must presume the  _least worst_ and find a solution.

 

He watches Victor slump on the bed and curl up into a ball. Something clenches inside him; Victor's in pain and is trying to undermine it, and Yuuri isn't liking this one bit.

 

"Are you hungry? Would you like some soup?" he asks Victor, who shakes his head. "'M tired. Not hungry... will throw up..."

 

"I should call an ambulance," Yuuri babbles his thoughts out, and at least that elicits a laugh out of Victor, so he guesses it's a win-win.

 

"Yuuuuri," Victor drawls from the bed, "Don't worry so much. It's just a stomach bug. I think it's the Indian we had on our cheat day. Please never allow me to choose restaurants again."

 

That does make sense. Yuuri considers it. "But if it doesn't go away tomorrow we're seeing a doctor."

 

"Fine. Now come to me?"

 

"In a minute."

 

To be honest, Yuuri has no idea how to take care of a sick person. Back at Hasetsu, he was the youngest in the family, and naturally the most coddled. Following that he spent five years in Detroit with a marvelous superhuman called Phichit Chulanont who's only ever been close to being (love)sick when a classmate of his stopped replying to his texts. 

 

He texts Okaa-san for her miso soup recipe, then looks for the medicine box. As far as he remembers, Victor told him it's in the third right drawer in the living room. And there it is - but  _wait_ , there's gauze and sprays and antiseptics and -  _great_ ,  _thank you for nothing useless plastic box_ , even an electrolyte solution would've done him good but -

 

Yuuri looks out of the window - it's late and cold and drizzling outside - and then at Victor - he's pulled his knees even closer to his chest, his arms wrapped around his waist, frown lines on his face, definitely in pain.

 

"Victor," Yuuri sits on the bed beside him, gently caressing his silver hair, "Vitya." Victor responds by leaning into his touch. "I'm putting your phone right next to you, okay? If there's anything wrong, call me. I'll be right back."

 

He receives another pain-addled nod, and decides not to waste any more time, throwing on whatever he could find on flailing his arms. Victor's ushanka on his head, that really fat coat, mismatched boots - he has no idea and couldn't care less right now. 

 

The cold hits him like a slap to the face as soon as he steps out. He's survived through the Detroit cold but Russia... Russia was just something else. He paces up, thinking that'll keep him warm. The ushanka was perhaps a good idea given it's drizzling and he's already forgotten the umbrella.   _Five more minutes, five more minutes_ , he mutters to himself, almost jogging at this point. The convenience store is right about the corner.

 

_Aaand it's closed._ Yuuri grits his teeth. Maybe out of cold. Or maybe just annoyance. He runs for shade just as the rain worsens -  _it's raining now, why does it have to rain right now?_ He pulls out his phone to look for other convenience stores - suddenly there's noise, so much noise as the ice pellets hit the concrete. There's one in the next block - not a mart, just a small store.  _It'll do -_ he breathes, leaning against the wall. 

 

Maybe he should wait until the rain stops. He glances at his phone; there aren't any calls. The wallpaper sends a pang of guilt through his heart - it's their photograph together from the Grand Prix Final. Victor's smile lights up his whole world. Unlike right now, when he's at home, sick and suffering all while Yuuri's under this  _stupid_  shade waiting for the  _stupid_ rain to stop. 

 

Victor shouldn't suffer because Yuuri can't remember to carry an umbrella. He breaks into a run.

 

He makes it to the store without dying. The ushanka is sopping wet and weighs a ton. His shoulders and back are numb with the dampness that has seeped in and his teeth hurt from clattering. He figures out an old man sitting at the reception through his rain blotched glasses and already blocked sinuses. The man is alarmed at his state but nonetheless asks him what he wants. In Russian. 

 

"English?" Yuuri asks,  _pleads._ The man gives him a sorry shake of head.

 

He could've handled basic Russian; by basic, he means really basic, just touching the base by the tip of the finger - that level of basic -  _spasibo, vkusno, prosti, da,_ terms of endearment (and some sex talk, because Victor said it sounds hot in his voice). He's in no way capable of asking for medicine in Russian, especially not when he's wet and shivering and the shutters of his brains are closing down, one sniff at a time.

 

Suddenly he has a lame idea. His hair is sticking to his forehead and his head throbs, and since he isn't riding high on either patience or choice, he gives it a go. He pulls his wet gloves off and manages to type out  _Google Translate_  with stuttering, trembling fingers. The Cyrillic result is puzzling and now he has to blindly hope that everything works.

 

_Please, please work._

* * *

_  
_

 

Victor must've drifted off to sleep. When he wakes up, it's still night. The bright fluorescent light hurt his eyes as he desperately threw his arm around, lunging at Yuuri's side of the bed. It's cold, and empty. 

 

He looks around, and sits up. The bile still seems to be sticking at the back of his throat and his abdomen lurches in discomfort. There are sharp jabs of pain every now and then, often coming back with a vengeance every time they seem to pass. Victor has never regretted a cheat day more.

 

Makkachin is sleeping on the carpet. Where's Yuuri though? Is he in the kitchen? Victor would've gotten up to check but there's another stab of pain and he falls back on the bed, exhausted. "Yuuri... Yuuri..." he keeps mumbling like a prayer, not loud enough, irrational tears welling up in his eyes. He  _was_  being a pain in the ass, wasn't he? And now, Yuuri left.

 

He is on the verge of drifting off again when he hears a faint shuffling of steps. "Vitya," he senses a cold hand touch his forehead, "how are you feeling now? I made some porridge. Please eat something, you gotta take your medicine after that."

 

Victor almost recoils at how cold the hand is, before his pain-hazed brain discovers it's Yuuri. He reaches out to hug him, wrapping himself around his waist, tears escaping him again. "Don't leave me."

 

"I'll never leave you, silly," the cold hand returns to caress his hair, "now let's get up and eat something."

 

Victor frowns at the moisture that stuck to his palm when he touched Yuuri's sweatshirt. "Why are you wet?" He glances up at his fiance's face; Yuuri is not just wet, he's dripping wet. Victor gasps, "You went outside."

 

"I - I just went to the terrace," Yuuri stammers, "I'll take a shower and wash off the rain. It's not a big deal."

 

"You still haven't done it? You -  _ugh_  -"

 

"What, what's wrong?!"

 

"I just... nothing," he sighs, sagging onto Yuuri's cold, wet shirt. Yuuri nudges him softly, "C'mon, let's eat. Want me to feed you some tasteless goop?"

 

Victor blushes, then laughs. "Getting back at me for the restaurant thing?"

 

"Maybe," he shifts, and suddenly there is a steaming bowl of porridge in his vision. Bland, hot and tasteless. His body protests, but Yuuri is feeding him, so life's good. 

 

(Also, as soon as they get over with it, he can go back to bed, snuggle his face into the crook of Yuuri's neck and sleep off his illness.)

 

"I love you," Victor mumbles, his eyes glistening.

 

"I love you too, Vitya. You're emotional because you're sick." Yuuri brings up the heel of his other palm to wipe at Victor's glassy eyes.

 

"Yeah," he sighs, "Also, I think I burnt my tongue."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering if I get some kudos I'll write another chapter where Yuuri gets sick because getting drenched in the rain and Victor takes care of him. :D


	2. Chapter 2

“Morning,  _solnyshko_.”

 

Yuuri opens his eyes halfway, attacked by the brightness of the sun peeping through the curtains. The sky seems to have cleared. His head, however, feels muddled, a dull ache at its side; his nostrils are congested, and it takes some effort to fully remember last night. Victor is lying right beside him, a smile on his face and his eyes bright like stars. Victor was ill last night, wasn’t he?

 

“How’re you… how’you feelin...ing, Vitya?” Yuuri mumbles incoherently, his free hand fishing around on the bedside for his glasses. He finds them and puts them on. His vision clears, but his head, ugh, his head still doesn’t.

 

“I feel fine,  _solnyshko_ , your medicine worked,” Victor says, stretching himself upright, “You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”

 

“I did,” Yuuri protests, although he wants to take Victor’s word for it. Soon he realises his fiancé’s source of observation is the large unfinished mug of black coffee and a pair of headphones on the drawer.

 

He expects some chastising, but Victor hardly ever gets mad outside their student-coach-rival relationship. Victor stares back at him with the same starry-eyed adoration; he’d have told Victor how beautifully blue his eyes are if it hadn’t been his throat closing upon him. It’s fine, thinks Yuuri. He’ll tell him at night, when his head’s better and the throat thing has passed.

 

“I should go make breakfast,” Victor suggests.

 

“What, no – wait,” Yuuri rises with a start and the whole world spins for three whole seconds, “You were so ill last night you couldn’t move. I’ll make it.”

 

“But I feel good now!”

 

“First you prove it to me,” Yuuri jokes, “then you get a pass.”

 

“Wow,” Victor thunks his head against his palm dramatically, “Unreal. Unbelievable. Using my own coaching tactics against me.”

 

Yuuri trudges his way to the bathroom. Everything feels like a bad hangover. Is it because he was awake all night? Is it because of the rain? He doesn't want to mention the rain again; he doesn't want Victor to feel guilty over something he couldn't control. He brushes, tries to wash away the dullness and saunters into the kitchen. 

 

Of course, Victor's already there. A healthy Victor can't even be bound by chains, let alone challenges. "I'm trying to prove it you," Victor reasons sheepishly when caught red-handed with a frying pan.

 

Yuuri lets him this time, already drained out of energy. He leans against the counter as subtly as he can, reaching out for the plates from that position because all of a sudden moving is a strenuous task. 

 

"You okay?" Victor asks, looking sideways.

 

"Yeah, just tired," he sniffs, trying to shake off the throbbing in his head. He takes a bite of the toast, then tries the hot, black coffee - any more caffeine in his system and his head might explode - but at least he could taste the bitterness against his dead taste buds, unlike the toast. 

 

Victor  _indeed_  seems to have cured, happy about his breakfast after last night's force-feeding. Yuuri nibbles a corner - swallowing too is suddenly a strenuous task - he wants to push the plate forth and go to the rink.  _Go to the rink. Maybe roll to rink. Maybe pack myself into a truck and be delivered to the rink._  

 

"Yuuri, what's wrong? Did I burn it?"

 

"Noooo," Yuuri panics, and in his haste swallows the entire toast in two big gulps. His throat burns but he makes sure it doesn't show up on his face. "I'm just a little excited about practice. I thought of a few tweaks in the choreography..."

 

Victor's mind shifts the second the subject of skating arrives. He pouts, pondering into his fruit, "Do you think I'll need a clearance?" He's talking about Ms. Sokolova, Russian team's general physician and dietician.

 

"A check-up with her won't hurt, I guess."

 

Victor deflates in relief like a punctured balloon. "Thank God. I thought I'll have to sit and watch today. I'd have been one step away from Yurio mock-buying me a wheelchair."

 

* * *

 

Yurio spares none. Somehow, Yuuri manages to take this particular bullet for Victor too, none to his own pleasure.

 

"Oi, Katsudon, how are you doing it? Sucking more than usual?!"

 

Yuuri huffs. He has barely managed past the basic training. His ears are ringing so loud he barely registers Yurio's screaming - gives him a confused glare. In words from the great k-pop discourse, everything screams  _not today_.

 

"I think I'll take a break," he mumbles. Sans spectacles, he isn't even sure if it's Yurio as the child skates away. 

 

Yuuri heads for the locker room. They have benches there, and he can  _sit_. Because he feels like he has been standing since the resurrection of Christ and his legs might reduce to dust any moment now. Also, his back hurts. Also, his head. Also, Victor is away from sight so he'd just take this short break and no one will ever know. 

 

The world then tilts and he sinks to his knees faster than he can realise; his head slams to the floor with a  _thunkbam! -_ or so how he feels- it's not even floor, it's ice, wet and burning and bright - did he not make it to the locker room? 

 

"Katsudon? What the fuck?  _Katsudon!_ "

 

Ear against the ice floor, Yuuri can hear the aggressive  _swish-swash_  of blades cutting through the surface. There's buzz and he knows people are surrounding him. He wants to get up, or at least show a thumbs up or something to tell them he's fine, but his brain is tired and everything hurts. He just wants to sleep.  _Five more minutes._

" _Yuuri!_ "

 

That is Victor's voice.  _Five more minutes, Victor, then I'll get up, I promise._

* * *

 

Victor's heart almost stops when he sees Yuuri crumble on the ice. He screams his name but his voice only comes around a little later. He's frozen for a split-second, almost pushed past by rink medics carrying a stretcher, and before he knows he's trailing after them first in crowd. 

 

"What happened?!" He asks in a shaky, desperate voice.

 

"He's fine - he has a temperature running and fainted from overexertion," the medic replies, then follows up with an unintentional accusatory tone, "You shouldn't have allowed him on the ice today." 

 

"I didn't know," Victor says to no one in particular, barely audible. His eyes are stuck at Yuuri's unconscious form which is now being placed on the small bed of the sick room. 

 

He takes up the chair by the bed, feels the guilt and hurt knotting his insides together. Yuuri's eyes are fluttering, his forehead glossing with the sheen of sweat and his throat bobs like he's thirsty. He clearly has a fever. How could Victor  _not_  have noticed? 

 

Yuuri wakes up soon, eyes wildly searching around for someone and eventually resting on Victor. He stares at his fiancé through droopy eyelids and sniffs out an "I feel miserable."

 

"It's going to be alright, love," Victor strokes his hair affectionately. To be honest he's a little angry at Yuuri, but decides to bite it down. Everything has its time, and this is definitely not the time for it, not when Yuuri is sick and needs him to be at his side. "Can you get up? We'll go home. Yakov will drive us."

 

Watching Yuuri struggle to rise into a sitting position, Victor gets to his feet and collects Yuuri in his arms. "Wha - Victor! I'm heavy!"

 

Yuuri shivers and curls up more even as Victor plants a kiss on his forehead. Walking is certainly out of question. Victor's legs take a moment to adjust to Yuuri's weight, and he has some doubts making it all the way to the parking lot. Even so, he remembers how easily Yuuri firefighter-carried him to the bedroom once in the middle of an argument, and rises to the challenge. 

 

"Just try to get some rest, darling. Anyway, I feel like Batman right now."

 

* * *

 

Luckily, the rink medic (Ms. Sokolova is on a leave) prescribes Yuuri a bunch of medicine that Victor picks up along the way. 

 

"Open up, Yuuri," Victor nudges him, thermometer in one hand. Yuuri wriggles for space, oscillating between deep slumber and sleeplessness, burritoed in three thick blankets. His hair is ruffled like a stack of dark feathers, there's a reddish blush on his cheeks, and as he opens his mouth like a child, Victor hates himself to think how precious Yuuri looks right now.

 

"Yuuri, I have a question."

 

Yuuri turns at him, thermometer in mouth. "Mmm?"

 

Victor postpones the question until Yuuri's temperature is taken and both of them wait in suspenseful silence; 102.something, it's bad, isn't it? The rink medic  _did_  tell him the fever is going to rise later in the day. 

 

"I thought I'd get your meds from the mart but it's closed for renovation since last week.  _Where_  did you go to get my meds last night?"

 

Yuuri turns his back lazily. Usually he might've hesitated but right now he's sick and his social filter is off. Victor might get some real answers. 

 

"I went to a store," he says, his words muffling against the blanket, "there's a... there's a store... there's this old man at the counter who can only speak Russian..."

 

Victor frowns. He knows which store Yuuri is talking about; that one is pretty far from their apartment. And for Yuuri to abruptly get so sick - 

 

This is when it finally strikes him.

 

"So you went out in the rain? Did you take the car?"

 

"I didn't - I thought... thought the mart's open, and I didn't know it was going to rain like that... and I - I couldn't just return without getting anything..."

 

"Wait, you didn't even have an umbrella?"

 

"I had your ushanka."

 

"God, Yuuri," Victor can hardly believe what he's hearing; he's not a man of outbursts but right now he's  _this_ close to having one. "Do you have a death wish? Do you realise that hell freezes over here when it rains? You are lucky you just have a fever. You could've gotten hypothermia! And you were planning on not telling me any of that? You know how scared I was in the morning when you fainted and I had no idea why?" 

 

" _I'm sorry_ ," Yuuri's voice breaks, and it's when Victor realises he's sobbing into the pillow, " _I'm sorry, Vitya. I'm so sorry._ I went out because... because I couldn't bear to see you in pain anymore. If I hadn't been so weak I wouldn't have fallen sick this way. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to make you feel guilty. I messed up. I'm sorry I always mess up. I'm sorry."

 

"Oh, love," Victor pulls him up to his chest, all anger dissipated and lumped into an emotional blob in his throat instead. He can sense Yuuri's heat through the fabric of his own shirt, and it's a little unnerving. "Please don't cry, Yuuri. Don't be sorry, and please don't cry."

 

"Let go of me, you're gonna get the flu," Yuuri drawls, although his gestures say otherwise, clutching Victor's shirt in his fists like his life depends on it and burying his head against the crook of his neck. Victor strokes his hair as his sobs slowly subside. 

 

"I'll be fine, love. Just focus on getting better. You want me to give Okaa-san a call?"

 

"No... I'll only make her worry. Are you... are you still mad at me, Vitya?"

 

"I'm mad because what you did was crazy, but I also feel loved because I've got someone in my life who'd do something  _that_ crazy for me. I love you so much, Yuuri."

 

" _I louff youf too."_

"And you're not weak either. You're not allowed to talk this way about my fiancé."

 

"Your fiancé?" Yuuri looks up with glassy, bloodshot eyes. His face falls as his brain reels around the statement, before his eyes brighten with a dopey, dreamy giggle, "Wait, that's me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the chapter with sick Yuuri, like you guys asked! Drop in a kudo or a comment if you liked! :D


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